


Pour Decisions at Port Nowhere

by TheDandyRascal



Series: SWTOR oneshots: early game [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Friends making bets against each other, Gen, mention of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28910088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDandyRascal/pseuds/TheDandyRascal
Summary: Kaliyo doesn't take a lot of things seriously, but right now she feels it’s her rightful duty to her crew to make Agent stop working on karking reports.
Relationships: Male Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine/Male Sith Warrior
Series: SWTOR oneshots: early game [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112813
Kudos: 4





	Pour Decisions at Port Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Imperial Agent is Alton Huxley, aka Hux. Kaliyo almost never calls him by name, in favour of calling him 'Agent' or boss. She calls Raina Temple 'Agent Jr'
> 
> Written in 2016, when apparently I was REALLY into Port Nowhere when I was writing a lot of these?? Probably because Huxley and his crew can lurk around here without interference or something, who knows. This is set some time between the end of the Agent class story line and the Shadow of Revan expansion.

**Port Nowhere**

Kaliyo makes another slow circuit around the  _ Phantom _ , her fingertips gliding over the polished durasteel of the bulkheads. Since her employer cut ties with Imperial Intelligence she’s taken it upon herself to remove each and every surveillance device hidden in the ship; most of them were dealt with months ago, but she found one just yesterday in the kriffing light fixture in the galley so it’s probably not a bad habit to keep up with.  _ Although _ she’s got a sneaking suspicion that the last two were planted by Agent or Agent Jr just to mess with her. Kaliyo finishes her journey outside the conference room -- what a  _ wild _ turn her life has taken, crewing on a ship with a karking  _ conference _ room -- and considers her options for the rest of the evening.

The armoury is stocked and in working order; all damaged field equipment has been repaired or replaced; even the damn ‘fresher floors are sparkling clean. They’re not even in transit, so it’s not like she’s stuck on the ship, but Kaliyo has already explored all the nooks and crannies of this stupid space station before and there still isn’t anything interesting to do. Though she did get a great deal on a case of frag grenades this morning, which was a bonus. And she’d picked up a couple other nasty little surprises to tuck away for the right occasion. Like arson or some light terrorism.

For a crew of six beings, no one is being particularly entertaining right now. A full  _ half _ of them aren’t even onboard the damn ship. Lokin took the Murderbot on one of his crazy old man adventures three days ago and Vector bailed for some weird bug meeting of minds or whatever it was that Agent gave him permission to sashay off to do. Vector isn’t really all that fun to talk to anyway, but he’s still usually up for something even if he doesn’t know how to party worth a damn. Lokin can hang if he feels like it, but at some point he always starts talking about weird bio-science stuff and kills the vibe. But nope, they’re off doing things and now it’s just Kaliyo and the Academy Twins. She is very  _ bored _ . 

Agent Jr has been locked in the cargo bay to practice her Force crap  _ all day _ and Agent himself is doing karking paperwork or whatever’s kept him holed up in his quarters working away. Why he even bothers anymore is beyond her understanding. It’s not like he has a boss to update or anything. Pretty sure that was the whole point of using that Codex thinger to make them all disappear from official records. Then again they  _ do _ still have enough credits to run this little renegade operation and Kaliyo’s still getting paid. So maybe they do work for someone still? Or maybe he’s just a huge weirdo who spent too much time working for the man and doesn’t know how to just kick back and relax.

Actually, she’s 100% sure of that. 

* * *

Back when he and Kaliyo first started running together they’d had some good times. Lots of sassy banter and flirting, late nights at the cantina, that time she’d dragged him on a circuit of shady casinos so they could fleece morons at the sabacc table -- turns out Agent is a total cardsharp -- he really seemed to like playing space pirate. They’d slept together just once, after the business with Nem’ro on Hutta when they’d gotten trashed and were running high on a successful con. It’d been fun at the time but super awkward in the light of day. It’d taken Kaliyo a couple months to figure out that he’d been weird about it because Agent actually loved dick. The Red Blade had been a lotta fun though; stiff, proper Agent not so much. He’s been wound a little tight since his promotion.

It’s not that he’s boring -- because the guy knows how to find trouble like crazy -- but definitely guarded. Considering the shit he’s had to do over the last couple of years, she’s not really surprised. Agent has always done a decent job of shielding the rest of them from the sheer insanity of working for Intelligence by making them sub-contractors who work for him rather than directly for the Ministry, but even a blind space slug could see the toll it’s taken on him.

He’s a pretty lonely guy though, but maybe that just comes with the whole spy territory. She can tell that he cares about the well-being of the crew; there’s no question that Agent has gone above and beyond to protect their fool asses on countless occasions. He makes a regular habit to check in with everyone, takes their opinions into consideration, even defers to their expertise when necessary. He’s been mentoring Temple since the day she came on board, he listens to Lokin’s crackpot mad science bullshit whenever the old man goes on a tear, he even forgave Kaliyo for that shady business with Wheezer and helped her deal with the fallout. He’s accompanied Vector to some of his weird bug ceremonies and various diplomatic bullshit, and he willingly spends time in the same space as SCORPIO the murderbot. Hell, he’s even slummed through dive bars with Kaliyo as her surprisingly effective wing-man. Agent is charming as hell when he turns it on, and she’s gotten lucky more than once thanks to his game. 

The whole crew, they’re like… not really partners, because Agent still calls all the shots and they just hop to it. But he’s also not just their boss. More than friends and not touchy-feely enough to be a family. Kaliyo cares about the stupid bastards enough that she’s taken her fair share punches for all of them and she hasn’t cared about a lot of people in her life.

And right now she feels it’s her rightful duty to her crew to make Agent stop working on  _ reports _ .

  
  


* * *

The door to his quarters is open so at least she isn’t interrupting any… private time activities. Not that  _ she  _ cares about that because she’s already seen his penis, but she does know that  _ he _ cares about it. Kaliyo walks straight into the room and flops down dramatically on his bed. His ‘way bigger than her crappy bunk’ bed. She’s spiteful enough to swing her boots up onto the duvet.

Agent casts a side-eyed look from where he’s hunched over his desk. “Something I can do for you, Kaliyo?” That smooth Academy drawl is just chock full of irritation.

She flashes him a sharp-toothed grin and tucks her hands behind her head. “There sure is.”

He sighs and sets his stylus down, straightening up in his chair as he turns to face her. “And what might that be?”

Kaliyo lets her gaze drift around the sparse, tidy room. “I’m bored.”

“You’re bored.” His tone is flat with a hint of exasperation. Agent pinches the bridge of his nose and turns back to his desk to continue working.

She springs to her feet and crosses the room in a few steps to drop her hands heavily on his shoulders. “Ah ah ah, Agent. Not so fast.”

He flinches a little, his shoulders stiff under her hands. “Kaliyo.” There’s an edge of warning in his voice. “What do you want?”

Rolling her eyes, she slumps casually against his back and props her elbow against his head. “Come out and have a drink with me. We’ll get Temple to come too, she’s been holed up playing make believe all day long.”

Agent lets out an exasperated noise and shrugs her off, his hand immediately coming up to smooth his ruffled hair back into place. “I’m busy.”

“Doing _ what _ ? Filling out reports? For who?” She lifts an eyebrow at him, propping her hands on her hips. “Did you forget you don’t have a boss anymore? You’re the boss of this crew now.” Kaliyo disregards the scowl on his face. “Which means you’re filling them out for yourself, idiot. Fuck the reports, Agent. Let’s party.”

He glares at her. 

She glares right back. 

“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?” his voice takes on a sharp, petulant tone and he narrows his eyes.

Kaliyo just flashes her most winning ( _ terrifying _ ) smile and claps her hands. “Nope. I win. Let’s go.”

“I’m going to regret this.” He mutters, pushing himself up from his desk.

“Oh probably. And change your clothes. You look uptight.”

“I am  _ not _ uptight.”

“Yes, you are. But we’ve all learned to deal with it.”

  
  


* * *

It doesn’t take much to persuade Temple to join the cantina adventure. Much to Kaliyo’s delight the young agent is always up for a good time -- probably making up for lost time after spending all those years on Hoth -- especially if it involves their Great Leader. When Temple first joined the crew it took Kaliyo all of twelve minutes to spot the idiot girl’s massive ladyboner for the dashing Cipher Agent, so she did the kid a solid and told her about Agent’s carnal proclivities. To this day Temple swears up and down she isn’t into him, but you get a couple drinks into her and it’s still all ‘heart eyes’ and giggles. 

Tonight Kaliyo will make sure she’s drunk enough not to notice. 

It’s not like Agent will notice anyway because he’s incredibly dense when it comes to women unless he’s working a mark. Which, honestly, makes a lot of sense.

  
  


Kaliyo picks one of the nicer cantinas on the merchant deck where they won’t have to worry about getting their pockets picked, but not too nice that the bottles of Corellian brandy are genuine. The place is half-full; most people are crowded around a wall of vid screens shouting about whatever sporting event happens to be on while the rest are milling around until the dancers get back on stage. Agent’s lip curls up a bit but he puts his brave little soldier face on and follows them inside. She hooks her arm around his neck and gives him a reassuring squeeze. “Oh come on, we’ve been in way worse places than this!”

He gives her a side eyed look and wriggles free. “My boots are already sticky.”

She looks down at the grungy durasteel floor covered in stains of various colours. “Well maybe you should watch where you’re walking, genius. Lighten up.” Kaliyo shoves playfully at his side then hooks her free arm through Temple’s, gesturing Agent towards the wall of empty booths near the back. “Go get a table. We’ll get drinks.”

Pulling the other woman along behind her, Kaliyo cuts through the crowd towards the bar. She glances back to make sure Agent is out of earshot before dipping her head to speak in Temple’s ear. “He’s hiding something.”

The brunette lifts an eyebrow and gives Kaliyo a familiar look of sarcastic superiority. Either she picked that up from Agent or they teach that shit at the Academy. “Yeah, no bantha shit. He’s a spy.”

Kaliyo rolls her eyes and gestures to the bartender for a bottle off the top shelf, which is definitely not good liquor but is less likely to be cut with repulsor coil cleaner. “I don’t mean that, idiot. Something different, not work related. Like, why are we still here?” She leans over the counter to grab a trio of glasses and ignores the bartender’s squawk of protest. “He  _ hates _ this place, Temps, but we’ve been docked here for three days. If we were just cooling our jets somewhere, we’d be at the Fleet.”

A frown creases Temple’s forehead as her face screws up in thought. “Okay, maybe. But so what? We’d be waiting around either way, who cares if it’s here?”

“I care.” Kaliyo flicks a credit chip towards the bartender in exchange for the bottle of hopefully not  _ total  _ poison. “This place bores me.”

Temple lets out an inelegant snort. “And the Fleet is more interesting?”

“You bet your sweet ass it is. Can’t swindle anyone here, the card tables are all too crooked.” She grins sharply. “And no sweet, innocent troopers on their first deployment to seduce. This place is all leathery old spacers and cheats.”

“And you’ve clearly been there and done that with all the good ones,” Temple deadpans.

Kaliyo nods as she makes her way through the crowd towards the table Agent selected. “Exactly. Now you’re getting it.” She turns around abruptly, ignoring the grunt of surprise from a Rodian who’d run straight into her. “ _ As _ I was saying, Agent is hiding something. And I bet you a thousand credits that I get him to spill first.”

Crossing her arms over her chest Temple gives Kaliyo a wry look. “Like you paid up after the beard bet?”

Kaliyo points the neck of the rum bottle at her. “Hey, that’s different. I still think he looks like an idiot, which means I shouldn’t have to pay up. Come on, what do you say? Chance to give those interrogation skills a whirl, yeah?”

She fidgets a bit, shifting her weight between her feet until she lets out a gusty sigh. “Fine, I accept your bet. But,” she jabs a finger against Kaliyo’s sternum. “This is just for fun. Nothing that could get any of us killed. Deal?”

“What?” Kaliyo gives her friend the best innocent look she can muster. “Would I do that?”

Snatching the bottle from the Rattataki’s hand, Temple pushes passed her. “Yes. You would.”

* * *

There’s one thing most people don’t know about Alton Huxley: the boy sure can hold his liquor. Kaliyo has already dropped another stack of credits on a round of whiskeys and some neon blue brandy that tastes the way hyperdrive coolant smells and he still looks sober. 

Agent takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves halfway through the first bottle of the worst rum she has ever consumed, and all that does is make him look ruddy. He isn’t slurring his words and definitely hasn’t gotten drunk enough to fool yet. It’s also taken some clever sleight of hand and misdirection to keep Temple from getting sloppy drunk even though Kaliyo is aware it would give her a better chance at winning their bet. Kaliyo can drink both humans under the table any day of the week, but even she’s been sipping at her drinks more than usual to make sure he gets the lion’s share of alcohol. 

If she’s going to win the damn bet, it’s time to pull out the big guns.

The next time Kaliyo heads to the bar she brings back a small bottle of Felucian tequila and a handful of Gevri fruit. She flashes her fiercest grin and sets the bottle down with a resolute click on the sticky table top. “You two ready to r _ eally  _ start drinking?” 

* * *

By the fourth shot, Kaliyo can’t feel the left side of her tongue. 

But it’s working. 

Agent is sprawled boneless on his side of the table, humming to himself as he uses the edge of a blade to make a spiral out of the Gevri fruit skins. At some point he’d dragged his fingers through his hair enough that it’s sticking up on one side and is clearly drunk if he hasn’t noticed yet. With each shot he gets progressively more rumpled and is now flushed all the way down his pale neck. Even his ubiquitous academy drawl has softened with a hint of a slur.

Kaliyo is confident he’s finally shitfaced.

  
  


Slumped forward against the table, Temple has her chin cupped between her palms as she stares at him with a look of fierce concentration. Kaliyo isn’t sure what game she’s playing, but neither of them have gotten very far in their little bet yet. Turns out secret agents are pretty karking good at keeping their cards close to their chests because he’s been keeping the conversation going in circles for nearly an hour. But now that he’s drunk, Kaliyo can’t remember what her strategy is anymore and maybe she’s a little bored of the game? She’s ready to throw in the towel and have another shot of tequila when Temple -- who sounds way too sober for their party -- speaks up in a clear, firm voice. “Why are we still docked at Port Nowhere?”

Kaliyo snorts rudely and plucks one of the intact citrus fruits off the table so she can cut a slice for her drink. Agent Jr has clearly given up too, because there’s no way Agent will answer a question that direct.

Tipping his head back against the booth he sighs wistfully and hums again. “Waiting for someone.”

_ That’s new information. _

Reaching across the table, Kaliyo snags the lip of his glass and pours another half shot into it before filing her own. “Oh yeah, who?” She picks up her knife again and has to close one eye to aim the blade properly.

Temple gives her a sharp little look, then turns her intense concentration back on Agent. “Who are we waiting for, sir?”

Agent holds up the long curlicue of fruit skin with an absurdly proud expression, then leans across the table to drape it over Temple’s forehead like a tiara. He grins sloppily at her and plucks up his glass on his way back into a comfortable sprawl against the wall. “M’husband.”

Kaliyo misses the fruit entirely and sticks the tip of her knife into the table. She gives him an incredulous look. “You’re  _ married _ ?”

He lets his head tip forward enough to meet her gaze and nods, his features slack from drink. “Uh huh.”

“Since when?”

Agent screws up his stupid handsome face in thought, reaching up to scratch at his even stupider beard. “Uh, I dunno, eight years? Nine years?”

Temple makes a pained little noise next to her and Kaliyo jostles her arm as if to say ‘ _ see? see?’ _ . The younger woman just grunts and reaches for the tequila bottle.

Kaliyo laughs at the confused look on Agent’s face and slides out of her seat in a barely coordinated tumble to crowd onto his bench. He makes a petulant noise when she shoves his knee off the seat awkwardly, but she ignores him to hook a friendly arm around his neck and pull him closer. Too drunk to keep his balance Agent falls against her in an undignified heap. She just grins and presses a smacking kiss to his forehead before handing him his drink.

“Tell me more, Agent.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Waking up is  _ rough _ . Kaliyo has never been so grateful to be docked instead of stuck in hyperspace, because if she’d woken up to a vibrating ship she’d be puking up everything she’s ever eaten. Rolling off her bunk, she hits the deck hard before pushing herself up to stagger into the ‘fresher. Temple is still dead to the world when the Rattataki comes back from a shower; Kaliyo takes a moment to make sure her friend is still breathing before leaving her to sleep it off. A quick rummage in sickbay and a couple hypos later, she’s feeling steady enough to eat something. And drink caf, lots and lots of caf.

  
  


Slumping at the table with two mugs of caf, Kaliyo drinks the first one before even attempting to recollect the previous night. Despite the brutal hangover, she’s moderately confident that based on what she  _ can _ remember from the previous night they’d had quite the adventure. Even if it turns out Temple had been karking cheating, using Force nudges to coax their drunk boss into spilling the beans but the hangover she’d given herself is probably punishment enough. 

After Agent’s little surprise announcement Kaliyo tried to press him for more details, but he hadn't given up much other than boring stuff. Except for the agonizingly long minutes he spent waxing poetically about his mystery beau’s penis. Even in the light of day Kaliyo still isn’t sure if she’s stoked that she hadn’t blacked out before hearing him sigh wistfully about getting dicked. After that he’d turned pretty maudlin, about how they never get to see each other and blah blah blah. By that point Temple was well on her way to becoming a weepy drunk and Kaliyo didn’t want the night to end on a low note so she’d packed up her drunk companions to wander the deck, looking for something exciting to do. Whatever that ended up being.

Tapping her fingers against the tabletop, Kaliyo wracks her brain about the evening’s ending. She remembers leaving the cantina, remembers pulling Temple off the air recycler outside a pawn shop, and she remembers having to grope around in Agent’s pockets for his code cylinder to get back onto the ship. But what happened between the entertainment deck and the docking bay?

  
  


A shuffling sound followed by a low groan interrupts her woolgathering and Kaliyo looks up as Agent creeps tentatively into the galley. He’s still wearing his shirt from the previous night but although he’d clearly managed to strip down to his undershorts and only one sock before passing out last night, he hasn’t found the coordination to put his pants back  _ on _ . Shading his eyes from the overhead lights with one hand, he uses the other to grope along the wall until he finds a seat at the table.

He looks awful.

Kaliyo immediately feels much better herself. 

“How you feeling, champ?” she grins over the rim of her second mug of caf.

“I’ve felt better.” His voice is a rusty whisper. “Like that time I got shot. That was better.”

Taking pity on the stupid idiot -- and perhaps feeling a  _ sliver _ of guilt about giving him a hangover -- Kaliyo pushes herself up to get him a mug of caf and retrieve one of the hyposprays she’d lifted from Lokin’s lab. Setting the steaming drink down in front of him, she grabs a handful of his messy hair to tilt his head to the side and gives him the shot of painkillers, electrolytes, and an anti-nauseant. Agent groans at the sudden movement and slumps forward against the table, arms curled around his mug but not bothering to drink it yet.

“What, you just smelling it or something? Drink up.” Kaliyo tosses the used hypo-injector into the recycler.

He just grunts and closes his eyes. “S’better this way. Shut up.”

Kaliyo rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the food synthesizer, flipping through the programs to find something that seems even remotely appealing on a sour stomach. 

“What happened last night?” he mutters into his arm. “Why does everything hurt?” Agent lets out a gusty sigh. “My shirt smells poorly.”

Settling on something greasy and full of protein, Kaliyo punches in the right code sequence and parks her hip against the counter top. “I told you not to lie down outside the bar, but you insisted. I do remember that part.” She crosses her arms loosely over her chest and drums her fingers against her forearm. “We just went out for some drinks, that’s all. Had some fun.”

Agent makes a noise of disgust and starts trying to wriggle out of his shirt without lifting his head off the galley table. “You made me do this, didn’t you. Of course you did. It’s always your fault.” He’s stopped whispering and is starting to sound cranky instead. The hypo clearly started working...

She doesn’t bother offering to help him because it’s way too funny to watch him struggle. He eventually manages to get his arms free but the shirt isn’t unfastened all the way, so it just ends up half-draped over his head. Agent makes a pitiful noise of distress but still doesn’t lift his head up to get rid of the shirt.

“You’re an idiot.” Kaliyo laughs and pushes herself away from the counter to help him. She grabs the hem and her gaze skims down the lean curve of his back, pausing on something new.

Oh right.  _ That’s _ what they did between the entertainment deck and returning to the ship last night.

At the base of his spine -- right above the waistband of his undershorts -- is a pair of lightsabers with their red blades curved into a heart. Permanently tattooed on his pale, pale skin. 

A wide, toothy grin takes over Kaliyo’s face. The food synthesizer bleeps behind her and she yanks his shirt off his head, throwing it to the floor before turning back to fetch their breakfast.

Maybe she’ll wait until he’s feeling a little better before telling Agent that he woke up with a tramp stamp.


End file.
